


Medusa

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Ficlet, Governor Joan, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prisoner Marie, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: Cloaked in shadows and secrecy, Governor Ferguson pays Marie Winter a visit in the still yet distressing night.
Relationships: Joan Ferguson & Marie Winter, Joan Ferguson/Marie Winter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Medusa

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for some mates on a whim one night and figured I should publish it rather than just deleting it from my notes. This is a super short piece for me. The premise is just canon divergence with Joan reigning as Governor and Marie as an inmate at Wentworth so their stories intersect without Joan ever being a prisoner. The title and inspiration comes from Emma Ruth Rundle’s song. Enjoy. x

“Medusa, you want all of the world just to need you. You want everyone here just to see you.”

 _Medusa_ – Emma Ruth Rundle

In an open cell with the iron door slightly ajar, adhering to the beck and call of wily temptation, Governor Joan Ferguson allows the tug on her tie in the same fashion that a noose constricts. Joan forgets to breathe until her lungs scream, begging for all that mercy she denies herself.

“Let me in,” Marie coos, her warble low and bittersweet, soft smile in place while she leads – walking backwards to her sanctioned hell.

Marie is lucid, she’s cool, despite the raging fever of her body working overtime.

She looks fragile, looks _frail_ , looks pretty breakable under the contrast of Joan’s large, yet slender palms which settle on Winter’s hips, her waist, the curve of her chest. The softness of flesh contrasts the scratchy teal uniform which unravels in layers, piece by piece; in for a pound, so they say.

No, that dark, hungry stare won’t turn Marie to stone. Their movements are serpentine, hushed, to make way for the archaic language of eroticism.

Marie begins by fucking herself, her bottoms discarded, briefs clinging to her soaked cunt. With hooded eyes, she hums in appreciation, acknowledging how Joan watches her, despite now holding her upright against the wall. She hooks her legs around the Governor’s waist despite the sore ache that will manifest in the cruel morning.

The Governor’s uniform grates her skin, rubs her raw, and their mouths deny the fruition of a kiss, close enough to taste heat and breath. Marie pants, rocking her hips against Joan, her fingers deep inside working herself up into a fervor.

“Stay close to me. Keep holding me,” Marie croons, a seductress in the way she writhes, inhibitions cast aside. “I’ll let you have a taste.”

The licentious invitation causes Joan to flare her nostrils. She’s never been made of ice, despite what the inmates and screws say. She’s all heat, burning and melting and aching.

No ‘Hail Mary’ leaves the Governor’s lips, but she does issue a trembling sigh, caught in the throes of perdition. She feels herself clench, and she tries to stomach her desire like swallowing shards of mismatched, uneven glass. It does no good; that repression summons a current of erratic electricity. Instinct lures her closer to Winter, forearm braced against her décolletage so she can experience the steady rise and fall of breath.

Donning a coy, sultry expression, Marie dares to cup the Governor’s jawline while panting quietly – every move she makes is a quiet, deliberate one. The tip of Marie’s soaked finger coats Joan’s bottom lip. As an automated response, her tongue snakes out to Marie her in and consume all that’s been offered.

Even automatons _feel_.


End file.
